


Just Us

by OrangeChickenPillow



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Companion Bond Feelings, Companions, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Drunk Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Geraskier, Male Friendship, Overwhelmed Jaskier, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Romance, Platonic Soulmates, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Social Anxiety, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:20:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28141527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeChickenPillow/pseuds/OrangeChickenPillow
Summary: While attending a royal banquet, Jaskier steps away from his performing for some time alone. But unbeknownst to him, the Witcher followed behind, catching the bard in a moment of vulnerability that they both bond over.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 145





	Just Us

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration from this fic came from an interview I saw of Joey Batey (Jaskier) describing something that happened during a red carpet event. Joey began to feel a little overwhelmed, so he found a quiet room with a piano in it, which he played for, as he says, like five minutes before turning around to realize that Henry Cavill had been silently listening to him. I thought the moment sounded really sweet, and I immediately began formulating a similar scenario with Jaskier and Geralt. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

This wasn’t the first royal banquet Geralt and Jaskier had attended - far from it, in the bard’s case. 

Though it might’ve been hard to tell from Jaskier’s oh-so-humble demeanor, he was relatively well known throughout the Continent, and had been hired to entertain several noble gatherings throughout his life. 

And though it might’ve been hard to tell from Jaskier’s interactions with the Witcher, the bubbly, aggressively humorous bard was not the biggest fan of these banquet jobs.

Of course Jaskier loved performing, and he felt fortunate to be able to make it his life’s work. However, there was quite a cavernous difference between performing at your friendly (or, sometimes, not so friendly) village tavern, and being the hired entertainment for kings and noblemen.

Jaskier, though he would never say so, really didn’t like royalty. He would never speak ill of people he hardly knew, but they could just be so… unpleasant.

His attendance to their distinguished feasts and parties were often met with a wide variety of reactions. Some people looked at him as if he were a joke. Others didn’t even notice him, but were far too rambunctious for even the bard to feel comfortable performing in front of. And even still, many were blatantly rude to him, simply because he was not of ‘royal blood,’ and therefore below them.

For as lovable as Jaskier was, he was also the frequent victim of cold-hearted, ill-intended abuse, and many times it had been at the hands of a noble person. 

As much as Jaskier wished he could reserve his talent only for those he found worthy of receiving it, he wished even more to be able to afford some meager food and a warm place to spend the night. 

And royalty did pay handsomely. 

So, despite all his lamentations towards royal banquets, and the royalty who attended said banquets, Jaskier gritted his teeth, put on a smile, and did what he needed to do in order to make some coin. 

He tried to be optimistic. Things weren’t always so bad - sometimes his audience surprised him with kindness and genuine interest in his music. Sometimes… 

It didn’t matter anyway - it was just something he had to get through. 

On one such occasion, he’d been traveling with Geralt when a request for his musical presence arose. 

Poor Geralt, who had been intending to quietly slip in and out of the kingdom in question without so much as a stray cat noticing their presence, found himself being roped into a night of dreadful celebration and socialization. 

Someone had recognized Jaskier - or more specifically, Jaskier’s lute - and immediately sent word to the king and queen, who just so happened to be having a party the next night. 

The two weary travelers were called before the crown and humbly asked (but really demanded) to join their celebration, given that Jaskier would provide them with a few hours of entertainment. 

Of course, Jaskier had to say yes. 

“What was I supposed to say?” The bard asked frantically when Geralt confronted him after leaving the castle. “‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry your Majesties,’” He started in a mocking voice, “‘but you see, I’m predestined to follow this large fellow around for the rest of my living days, and he seems to be intent on simply picking a random direction and walking until we drop off the Continent, so you see, I won’t be attending your party, thank you very much.’”

Geralt grunted. 

“You could have just said no.”

Jaskier turned to give the Witcher a look of bewilderment. 

“No - no I couldn’t have. Do you want to know what happened the first time I tried to decline a request from royalty?”

Geralt waited for an answer that didn’t come. Instead, Jaskier kept staring at him until he finally gave a testy, “What?”

The bard looked pointedly at him. 

“Nothing, because I’ve never done it. Generally speaking, we mere mortals don’t say ‘no’ to kings and queens.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. 

“Look, I don’t want to go any more than you do,” Jaskier said fiercely, gesturing with his hands to get the point across. 

“And,” he added, “at least you get to just -- sit in the corner and indulge in the pleasantries. I’m the one who’s going to be stared at all night.”

“Well actually” he tilted his head, “probably ignored, but you get the picture.”

Geralt looked at Jaskier.

“I’m a Witcher, Jaskier. I don’t get to go anywhere without being stared at.” 

The bard’s eyes softened a little. 

“Look, Geralt, I’m sorry. Really,” then, after a moment of thinking he added, “If you really don’t want to go, I won’t make you -- don’t want that on my conscience,” he said, half joking. 

Geralt sighed, rolling his head to one side. 

He very much did not want to go, but if he didn’t, Jaskier would probably wind up getting himself in trouble. Either that or drunk, and both would result in Geralt having to stay put longer than he already was. The Witcher just wanted to get moving and leave this place and all its people behind them. 

“Fine -- I’ll go. But we go in, you perform for however long you’re getting paid to do so, and then we’re leaving.”

Jaskier, Geralt noticed, looked relieved. 

“Fantastic,” he said with a grin. 

“But you’re going to need a bath, and a change of clothes, my good friend. You stink like a--” 

Jaskier’s voice dissipated as Geralt threw him a warning glance. 

“Fine, fine,” he said, surrendering. “But seriously -- a bath.” He gave Geralt a nod and a flirtatious wink, which earned him a grunt from the Witcher. 

They parted ways - Geralt for his bath, which was taken reluctantly, and Jaskier so he could prepare his instrument and his voice. 

In reality, the bard ended up taking a nap. 

Geralt, after visiting the bathhouse, had made his way back to their camp on the outskirts of the kingdom’s walls to find Jaskier slumped against a tree.

The Witcher sighed, watching the sleeping bard with fondness for a moment before gently kicking his boot. 

Jaskier jolted awake, looking around a little startled before his eyes landed on the Witcher. 

“Oi - Geralt. I was just… resting my… voice,” Jaskier said groggily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

“Mmhm,” Geralt said with a barely noticeable smirk that was, of course, noticed by the bard. 

Jaskier had very quickly learned the ways of Geralt, and was able to pick up on things that most others couldn’t.

“What time?” Jaskier asked, struggling slightly to rise from his position on the ground. 

He stumbled forward a little and, with a raised eyebrow, the Witcher reached a hand out to steady the bard. 

“It’s time for us to get going, if we’re going to make it to this… party,” He said, sounding less than excited. 

“Right -- yes.” 

Then, as if remembering that he’d just been napping against a tree, Jaskier gave a glance down at his clothes, frantically brushing them off. 

Bringing his hands up to ruffle through his mousy brown hair, he asked Geralt, “How do I look, hmm? Fit for a king?” 

The last sentence teased sarcasm. 

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted, narrowing his eyes at the bard, one corner of his mouth tilting upward. 

“I’ll take that as a yes -- c’mon, or we’ll be late,” Jaskier chirped, fully awake now.

Slinging his lute onto his shoulder, Jaskier set off in the direction of the castle, the Witcher trailing not far behind. 

The party started off alright. By the time Jaskier and Geralt arrived, the festivities were already in full swing. Elegantly dressed women were waltzing about, serving the noble guests with food and drink. Several of the attendees were already dancing, and the center floor was crowded with women in fine dresses and men adorned with intricately patterned jackets. 

The room swirled with chaotic activity. The moment they entered, Geralt scoped out a coroner and broke away from the bard to hide from the rest of the party-goers. 

Jaskier, not surprised by this, let him pull his disappearing act, knowing that if necessary, they would find each other. 

Instead, he swerved in and out through the sea of people until he found the platform where the musicians were set up. 

Removing his lute and wrapping the strap around his shoulders, Jaskier began strumming chords and ensuring everything was in tune - something he would have done prior to the party, had he not taken a power nap instead. 

It was no bother, though, as his hushed strums could not be heard over the blaring band, and the crowd of people had not even noticed he’d arrived. 

That is, until the Queen herself announced it. 

Once the dancers had completed their jig, she signaled the musicians to stop. They’d foreseen this order, as they’d noticed the bard prepping his instrument, and without so much as a sideways glance, abandoned their instruments and headed for the table piled high with food. 

“Ladies, gentlemen,” The queen said, her voice grand and stately. She swept her hand, long silken sleeve trailing like a curtain, towards the bard. 

“Our honored guest of entertainment - Jaskier! You may recognize him as the bard of the infamous White Wolf. He has generously agreed to perform for us tonight.”

With that, she nodded at Jaskier and took her seat. 

Jaskier, who had already prepared himself, bowed grandly to the crowd. 

Wasting no time, he began to sing. He started with a song of similar tempo to the jig that had been playing, hoping to ease the crowd into his music.

By the second song, the band members had returned to take up their instruments and accompany him for the remainder of his time. 

All while he was singing and playing, Jaskier was watching too. He was good at multitasking - in his line of work, you had to be; many times Jaskier had caught a crook trying to steal his disguared jacket or forgotten meal while he played. But keeping a watchful eye also allowed him to gauge the interest of the crowd, and adap to meet their entertainment needs. 

This particular crowd didn’t seem to care, really. A group of dancers had assembled once again in the center of the room, but they reacted no differently to his music then they had the previous musicians’. Those who were sitting or standing along the walls to talk or eat didn’t seem to mind him either way. Some were listening, others were ignoring.

This wasn’t the worst reaction, Jaskier knew, and he much preferred indifference to cruel jests and sideways looks, so he continued to play with the showmanship that had earned him such a grand reputation. 

He played for two hours before finally taking a break. He was being paid for two more hours, so he had a long night still ahead of him. 

Despite this - or maybe because of it - the bard was exhausted. 

He rarely played this long at taverns, as the people he encountered there were far less likely to be entertained by the same thing for so long, so he was feeling a little out of his depth. 

Now that he had time to think freely, seeing as he was not performing, he began to feel slightly overwhelmed. He found it hard to slow his breathing down, and nearly impossible to relax. 

‘Uh oh. Not good,’ he thought to himself. 

He still had a lot of singing left to do, and he surely wouldn’t be able to if he continued to feel like this. 

He needed to get away from the party for a moment. 

He absentmindedly slid his lute around so it was positioned on his back, then sought out a servant girl to attain a much needed drink of water. Once his thirst was quenched, he excused himself and slipped out the door. 

Wandering through the hallway, he peered into rooms without much caution, desperately trying to find a quiet place to be alone. 

A few doors down he found the perfect place; a small, plain room that was equipped with a long table. It looked like some sort of conference room. 

Jaskier didn’t care what its purpose was, only that it was dimly lit and quiet. 

He stumbled towards the back of the room, falling into a cushioned chair. Propping his feet up on the table, he let himself lean back heavily, trying to relax. 

The total silence, in contrast to the constant noise of the last few hours, unsettled him, so he began to gently pluck at a few strings on his lute. 

With his back facing the door, he absentmindedly strummed on his instrument, playing nothing in particular. 

The gesture relaxed him, and he felt himself begin to breathe easier. 

There he sat for several minutes, plucking at strings and creating a wispy, intricate melody with his skilled fingers. 

His eyes stared as he spaced out, all of his focus being on the delicate music he was creating. 

After a while, and after he had successfully calmed down, Jaskier knew that the banquet hall would be expecting him back. 

With a sigh, he stopped strumming and sat up, tossing his legs down from the table and standing. 

When he turned around, he found himself face to face with Geralt. 

The Witcher, who must have slipped in unnoticed by the distracted bard, was leaning against the wall by the door, one leg crossed over the other. He was watching Jaskier intently, but his eyes were inexplicably soft. 

“Geralt,” the bard said with a start. “What--” The question died on his lips. 

What was he doing here? How long had he been watching him? 

Instead, all Jaskier could do was stare back. 

“I…” The Witcher started somewhat hesitantly. “I saw you leave, and I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

Jaskier raised his eyebrows. 

“Oh,” he said with a nod of his head. 

“And then I heard you playing. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“So you just -- watched ominously from the shadows?” Jaskier teased, a smirk forming on his lips. 

Geralt looked away from him for a moment, exhaling a gentle laugh from his nose.

“I suppose you could call it that.”

Jaskier smiled at the Witcher. 

“Well… I don’t mind,” he said. “But you know, you don’t have to sneak up on me to hear me play. I’m at your service - day or night, you need only call,” he gave a sweeping bow, looking up at Geralt mischievously.

Geralt, to Jaskier’s utter surprise, looked serious and thoughtful.

“I’ve seen you perform many times - too many, if you ask me. But that,” Geralt tilted his chin towards where Jaskier had sat only moments ago.  
“That wasn’t performing. That was just… you.”

Jaskier gave a thoughtful tilt of his head, looking up at the Witcher. 

“Yes,” Jaskier said softly. “But if I were ever to play for you, that wouldn’t be a performance either,” he hesitated a moment. 

“That would be just... us.” His tone was careful, tentative - but Geralt could sense the honest vulnerability it carried. 

The Witcher looked at him closely, his face blank, but his eyes were contemplating the bard’s words. 

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed reflectively, his brows slightly drawn together. 

Jaskier gave the Witcher a sweet, lopsided grin and shrugged his shoulders. 

After a long exhale, Geralt’s eyes left the bard’s face to glance in the direction of the banquet hall. He grunted, sounding almost irritated. 

“You better get back,” he said in his low, gravely voice. “It sounds like they’re in need of some music.”

Jaskier followed Geralt’s gaze for a moment before his eyes, seemingly of their own volition, returned to Geralt. The bard found the Witcher’s own intense amber eyes looking back at him. 

Jaskier sighed, flicking a strand of hair off his forehead. 

“Right. Two more hours, then we’re out of here,” He said optimistically. 

“Hmm,” was Geralt’s only reply. 

The rest of the party was a success. Jaskier was exhausted, and Geralt had to assist the bard back to their camp. 

Jaskier was also drunk, of course. 

Geralt had tried to stop him, wanting to leave the moment the bard was done, but Jaskier insisted. 

“I can’t leave a perfectly respectable party without indulging a little bit, Geralt. Besides, half of my payment comes in the form of wine.”

So Jaskier had gotten his way and, unsurprisingly, that meant he’d had several drinks before the Witcher finally managed to tear him away from the castle.  
As they made their way back to camp, Geralt kept a close eye on the bard, who was swaying slightly, and needed to be reminded several times of the direction they were going. 

After Jaskier tripped for the third time, Geralt stopped him to gently remove the lute from around the smaller man’s chest. 

“Exactly what do you think you’re doing,” Jaskier said, his voice changing octaves as his words slurred.

Geralt grunted, then said, “If you fall and smash this lute, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I won’t -- give it--” Jaskier lurched forward, reaching for the instrument. 

But, seeing as Jaskier was intoxicated and Geralt was far quicker and stronger, the bard promptly gave up. 

“Just -- be careful, please,” Jaskier practically begged, looking so purposefully at Geralt that the Witcher almost laughed. 

Instead he simply sighed and continued walking. 

“Don’t worry, Jaskier,” he said, his voice revealing some of the humor he felt. 

The bard trailed behind him.

“I do worry,” Jaskier hiccuped, then coughed. “All the time, actually.”

Geralt stopped, turning suddenly to look back at his friend with an expression of mild concern that caused Jaskier to stop in his tracks.  
“Wat?” He said in a high, throaty voice. 

Geralt sighed. 

“Nothing. Come on, let’s get moving.”

“I’m moving, I’m moving,” Jaskier mumbled. 

By the time they reached camp, the bard had totally forgotten about his lute, though this was only because he knew Geralt had it. It never mattered how drunk Jaskier was, he always kept a close eye on his prized instrument. But, as he knew the Witcher would take care of it, he allowed himself to fall into his makeshift bed without a second thought. 

In a matter of minutes, he was asleep. 

Geralt stood, the lute slung carefully across his wide shoulders, staring at his friend for several minutes. 

Jaskier was breathing deeply, his face squished into the bundled up blanket that served as a pillow. His hair was a tangled mess of waves, draping over his forehead.  
He looked peaceful, content - much more serious than when he was awake. 

With no one to bear witness, the Witcher smiled - an expression that carried a hint of sadness with it. 

Then he carefully laid the instrument next to the sleeping bard, making sure to put it where Jaskier would find it the second he woke up, and there wouldn’t be a moment of doubt that Geralt had kept it safe for him.


End file.
